What's the point?

What’s the point?

That seemed to be the reoccurring theme behind a conversation a man (I’ll refer to as “C”) and I had at 5:00 in the morning the first Saturday of the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally… Not surprisingly at all, the whole conversation was a God-setup from the very beginning. It really started the evening before at the end of the supper meal. "C" sat down at the only available table which happened to be directly in front of the serving counter… ("C" is my age, average build, beard and long hair; he was at Sturgis with bail buddies, but was fine doing mostly his own thing.) The room started to clear out making a conversation over the counter even possible. Any other moment during the meal, the room would’ve been too loud for us to communicate… I don’t remember what we talked about exactly, something about the upcoming concerts at Buffalo Chip, something about touring the Hills, something about the crazy traffic… just icebreakers between complete strangers. We have many people come to camp with us that have to figure out what the “catch” is… Why the meals? Why the free showers? Why the flushing toilets when you haul water? Why the low prices – what’s the catch? Sometimes they have braced themselves for a sermon when they come in for a meal, especially the new campers… they’ve counted on us giving them something for free, but at the cost of them having to hear a message of the “good news”, so that we of course could report back to our supporters how many people we "saved" during the sin-infested Sturgis motorcycle rally… So it’s always fun to take them by surprise and let “free” actually mean free - without any stipulations…no catch. The message of the “good news” is obvious, but not because we’re preaching it with our mouths… It seemed like almost all of the workers this year were hurting one way or another, whether it was a loss in the family or sickness or physical/emotional pain. Everyone was hurting and the pain was obvious, but the Giver of joy was pouring out His Spirit so abundantly that the sort of laughter that makes your eyes water and makes your stomach feel like you’ve just done a thousand sit-ups, sort of became the theme of the kitchen crew. It got to where I counted on the meal prep, the meal serving, and the meal clean-up to be a good time with lots of laughing and funny stories and building each other up. So if a newby missed the message that "life is tough, but the Giver of Life is in the next breath you breathe if only you take it in" – well, then they simply weren’t looking hard enough. Thankfully, “C” was a newby last year (though I didn't remember him) and had studied us long enough to know he could come in and sit down and enjoy a meal without anyone giving him spiritual indigestion. He felt we were approachable, so he talked to us… the idea of that seems so insignificant, but when you wear all black, have long hair, and ride a motorcycle – you sometimes get this preconceived idea that certain kinds of people might not want to talk to you… we’re not that certain kind of people… So we gabbed about nothingness and went our separate ways.

Fast-forward now about 10 hours, and there I am in the kitchen behind the counter again, this time doing breakfast prep… Just to show you the God-setup behind our connection: this was the only morning of the whole rally I was alone in the kitchen. This was the only morning of the whole rally that I was not running nonstop to get breakfast ready to serve. This was the only morning of the rally that there wasn’t tables full of hungry people just waiting for the clock to strike 6 am; the very next day we served nearly 65 people between 6 and 6:15 am. This was the first morning I had awakened free of an eye infection (of which was always so much worse in the morning) I had been suffering from for days; if I would've still had this infection I would have done everything in my power to avoid the conversation to follow...  This morning was a God ordained appointment, where all the pieces fell into place…

 “C” apparently wasn’t much of an outhouse sort of fella, or maybe they were all occupied, whatever the reasoning he chose the restrooms in the building that morning. He had forgotten his flask in the restroom on his way out, but before he could get in and retrieve it, someone else had slipped in for a shower… so as he was waiting to get back in and get it, he decided he’d talk to me some more. “You’re Andy’s wife, right?” You can imagine the kind of relief that statement brought when I wasn’t entirely sure of the motivation behind him striking up a friendly conversation again with me…

”Are you like part owner, or you just work here or…?”

“My parents are the owners… so a little of both I guess.”

“Ok, so I have a question for you…”

“Ok. Shoot.”

Truthfully, I’m not entirely sure he had even been to bed at all that night. His words were very clear, but his tone was much, much more “mellow” then the evening before, and his eyes were intensely bloodshot. I can’t tell you how thankful I am for the “liquid courage” pulsing through him – this conversation would not have taken place without it, I’m sure. 

“Ok, so if Jesus is God’s son, and Jesus is the Messiah, and Jesus was a jew, right, ‘cause that’s what it says… then why do you meet on Sunday instead of the actual Sabbath?”

~ I’m now thinking one of two things is happening: either I forgot to get out of bed when my alarm went off and I’m just dreaming and will come to in an absolute panic any second now, or the night crew talked to this guy for a while already and I’m being punked… But on the off chance that this guy has read a history book of any kind on the Constantine era and has just legitimately asked me that question, I’ll answer him to the best of my understanding…

“Well, I don’t know why most Christians meet on Sunday, but we observe Saturday as our Sabbath. “

“Seriously? You meet on Saturday? Is there a meeting today?”

Oh how I wish I could’ve told him there was going to be one that morning… but I explained that it was an “our ox was in the ditch” sort of thing… and we just couldn’t have planned on meeting on one of the busiest days of the rally… I also explained that the Christian groups that were volunteering there like to host a Sunday meeting, so we let them run that… if we had someone volunteer to host a Sabbath one, we’d welcome that, no doubt…

Now, I’m sure you’re thinking what a strange and insignificant thing to ask about… why would this even be mulling around this guys head after a long night of partying… He told me later that he had been walking around downtown on Friday and he went into this booth that was set up where you could sign up for a drawing for a free Harley… and while you’re in there they “witness” to you (it’s run by one of the Baptist churches in town)… The trickery behind it had really aggravated him… What seemed to be happening, was that he had been working on a comeback to those “holier than thou” people who had tricked him into sitting down so they could tell him he was a sinner… Knowing history, he knew that “Christians” weren’t all saints themselves and he couldn’t wait to show them the error of their ways, just as he had been told the error of his… Hence the question – “Why do you meet on Sunday, when that wasn’t the day Jesus observed…” His game plan was somewhat deflated when I agreed with him that I also felt that Saturday was the original Sabbath… So he went fishing again…

~“I don’t know. I just want a real – something you can see - God. I’ve begged him to just show me something I could see and touch… that wouldn’t really be that hard if He’s the 'Creator of the universe'. Like, just do something so I know you’re real.” 

“No. It wouldn’t be that hard for sure, but what do you think that would do to you… what if you had the 'Creator of the universe' as your party favor… it’d be a pretty cool party trick to command Him to fill an empty glass with water… but how would that change you? Would it give you more faith or just fill you with pride? I have a birth defect that should make it impossible for me to hold myself upright, let alone walk or do normal activity… Andy always says that I am able to do more than what most girls without disabilities can do… God could heal me in a one time miracle, or He could walk in me daily, giving me the strength I need for that day. Letting me know He’s with me and wants me to accomplish that thing, that day. I think everyone has something like that… something that would be impossible, but isn’t - their 'proof'.”

He went on to tell me about how he was with a group of his friends one time and he told them he was going to prove that God was real and so he asked God to make it rain. And pretty soon he got a phone call from someone telling him to relay a message to so and so that he needed to move his car because it was flooding from a sudden cloudburst…

“Well, there you go. That’s very cool.” I said.

“Yeah, but other times it didn’t happen.” He replied.

“Yeah. It’ll always happen for you spiritually though… If there’s someone you can’t forgive, or someone hurting you somehow – pray for them sincerely to be blessed, and you’ll instantly feel Him spiritually and you’ll know without a doubt He’s real. Going against human nature… That’s where He’ll be – every time. In my opinion, that’s why we go through trails, so He can reveal His greatness to us… ”

Tears were slipping down his cheeks by now… His disgust with reality may seem like a disorganized jumble of thoughts, but if I had to guess, I would say that every conclusion he was putting forth had at some time in his life been the wall that kept him from turning his life around…

~“I don’t know. I just wonder why… what’s the point to all this.” Anger was the reigning emotion for him while we talked…

“I don’t know anything about anything, but to me this is what our purpose is… I think God was roaming the universe, creating beings for all different purposes for all sorts of reasons, but He was longing for a being who would choose to love Him…So He created a being with the ability to choose, and He knew He couldn’t reveal Himself to them in His entirety or it wouldn’t be a choice… it would all only be out of fear.”

He was quiet for a little while. Trying to wrangle his emotion. And then said: 

“Another thing I always think…that “saved by grace” thing… I prayed that sinners prayer or whatever when I was like 9… Nine! What on earth could I have possibly done to need to be saved from at 9… Now when I think of everything I’ve done, I just think how could I possibly ever do anything to be good enough to be “saved”…if I was bad at 9…”

“You couldn’t. I couldn’t. Nobody could. That’s the thing about Jesus – He covers us so that whatever is seen of us is seen only through Jesus… Not because of something we do or don’t do, but because of how great He is… That’s why I try to do things that are what He desires…not because I don’t want to sin so I can save myself, but because He’s such a loving heavenly Father, I want to do things that bring Him joy.”

He referenced the NT scripture of the unclean being clean at some point in the conversation. I told Him that scripture was clearly telling us not to call people unclean who He has called clean… And what a hope that was for us as being a “grafted” in people… to which he told me I had lost him and he didn’t know what I was talking about.;) It was very difficult to gage his knowledge of scripture, so I told him if he reads the Bible again and comes across verses that talk about God being the vine and we are the branches… or anything about being grafted in… that’s what I’m talking about.

He furthered the conversation, “Sin. I don’t know.. it’s just like these rules that… they’re just like ‘Whatever. What’s the point’.”

I replied, “Yeah. You can’t let anyone tell you what sin is… People will tell you things like 'drinking is a sin' and other things… but the truth is God only ever made a law when it had to do with you hurting yourself or hurting someone else… that’s when He didn’t want you to do it… Drinking is fine as long as it doesn’t get to where you are hurting yourself or someone else…” He seemed to see some relevance to that, some purpose.

He shifted over and looked off to the side. I kept stirring my waffle mix. Then he muttered back again:

 “I don’t know. What’s the point. I’ve done too many things. I wouldn’t even want Him to forgive me now.”

Tears were coming down again.

“Do you remember the story of the prodigal son?”   

 ~“Who?”

“The son who had lived off the riches of his father’s house until he was an adult, and then decided he wanted to go off on his own and do things his own way…”

~“Oh yeah, yeah.”

I could tell he remembered the story and wanted me to stop telling it… but I felt like I should tell it to the end:

“So he lived off his father’s riches, squandering it away until he had nothing left. Finally, he found himself wallowing with the pigs… and he remembered that even the servants at his father’s house live better then he does. If only by some chance his father could find enough forgiveness to let him come back to simply be a servant…so he headed home. Word got out that his son was coming back and before the son could even reach the gate, the father was running to him with handpicked clothes and he had ordered a feast to be prepared… not because of how good the son was or what the son had done, but because of how loving that father was… That’s how the heavenly father is to me. That’s the image I have of Him…”  

It was quiet again for a bit.

~“I don’t know. What about that ‘if you get rid of 1 spirit, 7 more will take it’s place’? I sure don’t need 7 more.”

“Sure. Well, the one thing you can know for certain is God is in control of all spirits. He’s in charge. So if it’s 1 or 7 or whatever, call on God and they have to surrender.”

~“Oh yeah, I know whenever I’m afraid or whatever… when there’s something spiritual happening that’s terrifying… I just call on God to help me. I know He’s there.”

It’s pretty obvious to deduce that our man “C” was bathed in some form of Christianity at some point in his life… He knew all the right clichés… He probably took it to task to “save” his friends, and the world. I think he felt that sometimes God was there for him and sometimes He wasn’t. At some juncture in his life, he asked “What’s the point?”. He went just as far as he wanted to go in the opposite direction - wherever the high would take him… But the “up” always had a “down”… And I think he is tired of hitting bottom… I hope I didn’t speak to him that day; I hope he doesn’t remember my slurred together verbal dissertation… My hope is that in his spirit he got this overwhelming sensation that there is a Father who loves him, has never not loved him, and has been there especially in the trials. And that this Father’s desire is only that his son stops hurting himself, and falls back into the loving arms of grace, to be clothed in the riches of joy and the splendor of peace… to find a hope rather than a high and a comfort despite the low.

When people started to come in for breakfast that morning, he hurried back to his camp to try to sleep a bit more. And when I saw him again later I treated him as though the conversation had never happened, but happy that he had made it in in time to grab a waffle. We looked over his maps and discussed the different routes. I was careful not to mention our divine appointment to any of the “ministries” at the campground as I knew it would only make him bait for the wolves… If he decides to make any lasting changes in his life, it will have to be done with a sober mind, not clouded with anger… it’ll have to be something real. He’ll have to find its purpose, its point. God is calling him back, out of the hurt and pain. When he comes to that crossroad to either choose death or choose life. I’m praying, and I know you will as well, that he’ll choose life, and never look back.